Lady Macbeth in Austen
by pneumarose
Summary: When the books Macbeth and Emma are left open next to each other on a bed, Lady Macbeth escapes from her book and enters the world of Jane Austen. Disputes, arguments, and factions ensue as Lady Macbeth seeks to deceive and control the Emma characters into changing their story. Those loyal, however, to their story and readers stand up in arms, and great havoc begins.


**Disclaimer: The idea of characters alive in a book belongs to Roderick Townley, and is not my creation. Lady Macbeth belongs to the brilliant, yet deceased, Shakespeare. And the characters from Emma are not mine, but belong to the lovely Jane Austen.**

* * *

Emma looked up at the sky, desperately wishing that the backup lights would fade, and some real light would shine through. It had been over a week since the last time their story had been read, and Emma and the other characters were getting antsy. All of them, that is, except her father. He was perfectly content to sit by his fire and escape the "drafts" he so fervently despised.

Emma stretched out on the word "expectation," as it was one of the longest words in sight. The word also quite fit her mood, as she again looked up at the sky, wishing fervently for a change in lighting.

Quickly boring of her seat, Emma stood and moved back half a page to the even longer word, "accommodation." This word was actually long enough for her to completely stretch out her tall slim frame. On a day when the story was left open, the rustle of the pages would lift the light blond curls on her forehead and let them fall again in a way hinting at the Regency Era to which they belonged. But today the stillness of the air was reminiscent of a body of water devoid of ripples or waves.

Emma's eyes began to droop after many moments of lying in complete boredom. She didn't fight the sleep that stole over her, and before long she was lost in the same dream that she fell into every time her eyes closed in slumber; a scene stolen from Chapter 30.

"In short," the man in her dream said. "Perhaps, Miss Woodhouse- I think you can hardly be without suspicion…"

Emma, as always in this dream, thought she heard a hint of something in Frank's voice that she wasn't ready to hear. Was he falling for her? She wasn't sure she was prepared for that, and her sense of duty to her father also aided in her attempt to delay Frank's intentions.

"You are quite in the right; it was most natural to pay your visit, then…" she began, referring back to Frank's speaking of his visit to another home before his upcoming departure.

Frank's silence caused her to trail off and notice his attention. He watched her intently, and then sighed. And he had every reason to sigh. She certainly wasn't making any outward appearances of encouraging his purpose. They sat there in awkward silence, till Frank sat forward in what looked to be renewed determination.

"It is something to feel that all the rest of my time may be given to Hartfield," referring to her family's estate. "My regard for Hartfield is most warm…"

Here he trailed off again, and Emma's heartbeat increased. He was more in love with her than she had at first guessed. But it was with this thought that her dream was interrupted, and Emma woke to the loud squawking of a bird.

"Rawwk. Reader! Reader!" The bird seemed to be crying as the book began to open, and a very bright light lit the sky.

Emma sat up with a start, realizing that she had to make it all the way back to the middle of the first chapter, as that was where the reader had chosen to begin. She picked up her skirts in a hurry, and ran in a way that only true book characters can. She arrived completely out of breath to find her father, Mr. Woodhouse, and her oldest friend, George Knightley, sitting in armchairs in a fire lit room.

Her father looked very worried, but the creases strewn across his brow relaxed at the sight of his beloved daughter. Emma barely had time to notice those creases and the twinkle in Mr. Knightley's eyes as she sank into the last arm chair, before her father began his well known lines.

"It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to come out at this late hour and call upon us. I am afraid you must have had a shocking walk."

"Not at all, sir." Mr. Knightley replied. "It is a beautiful moonlit night; and so mild that I must draw back from your great fire."

"But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I wish you may not catch cold."

"Dirty, sir!" Mr. Knightley suppressed a chuckle, being too decorous to show disrespect to the older man. "Look at my shoes, not a speck on them."

"Well! That is quite surprising, for we have had a vast deal of rain here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour while we were at breakfast. I wanted them to put off the wedding."

Mention of that day's wedding, caused the usual silence that ensued in this scene. Emma knew her character was supposed to be contemplating on the losing of her governess and dearest companion to marriage, but she couldn't help but glance up at the reader. A large chubby face of a girl barely in her second decade loomed high above them, and Emma's heart sank as she recognized the glazed look in the girl's eyes clearly displaying tedium.

"By the bye, I have not wished you joy." Mr. Knightley finally spoke. "Being pretty well aware of what sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have been in no hurry with my congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably well. How did you all behave? Who cried most?"

Barely had he finished his line, when the book was snapped shut, and the sudden movement caused the characters, furniture, and illustrations alike to fall into a heap. When the backup lights flickered back on, Emma was stuck beneath a chair, and she could hear her father grunt not very far to her left. After many moments of shuffling and voices, the chair was lifted off of her, and a familiar hand reached out to help her up.

Emma gladly accepted Mr. Knightley's hand, and stood up shakily before dusting off her clothing. She looked around to find that her father was again seated comfortably and free of that worry, she noticed the other characters who had crowded to the page to hear of the latest reading.

"Now, Emma." Mr. Knightley said with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling. "Where did you run all the way from? I swear, you were almost a full minute late."

"Chapter 43. It is the only place where I can smell the strawberries of your lawn, Mr. Knightley." She replied, somewhat testily. "And you never know any more where the reader is going to open. I could have been closer than anyone else to the place of action."

"Humph!" Mr. Woodhouse inserted. "Indeed, you never do know what to expect with these new fangled readers. The day was when they always opened to the first page, and the first page only."

"But really, Emma." Mr Knightley said. "Chapter 43? You know it highly unlikely that the reader will open to _that_ late in the book."

Emma merely rolled her eyes and turned slightly from him to escape his typical admonitions.

"All I know," Frank Churchill spoke up from where he lounged on the nearest "settee", a word really to short for his lanky frame "is that I worked hard to put on these blasted breeches this morning, and the reader wouldn't spare the time to open up to my page in order to see them."

"It was merely a little girl." One of the Hartfield servant women piped up, having sneaked around the corner of the page to catch a glimpse during the earlier interchange.

"Your breeches, indeed!" Mrs. Elton exclaimed in her high pitched voice. "I declare, Mr. Churchill, you would think that a man of your upbringing would care for more than fashion. It really is unseemly."

Emma rubbed her temples, willing the growing headache that was attempting to reside there to find another home. Her mind drifted back to that reoccurring dream still foremost in her mind. Would it never change? Would she be doomed forever to wish that she could change that moment and Chapter 30, and receive a better outcome? But of course, she couldn't change the story. It was set in stone. But still, Emma often wondered what would happen if she _could_ change her story.

But she didn't have much time to continue in these reflections, as the light began once again to change. The same bird that always accompanied these special moments was again seen flying overhead.

"Rawkk. Reader! Reader!" It sang out.

"Oh, not again!" Mr. Woodhouse groaned. "I'm not sure my aching bones can stand any more."

"Places!" Mr. Weston said with authority, and the characters scurried into their places, fervently peeking up to see their newest reader. But when the book was fully open, the sky above them was devoid of human life. Mr. Knightley's brows rose quizzically in Emma's direction, but she merely shrugged.

"Do I have to, Mother?" The book characters heard a young voice ask, and assuming it to be there reader of only moments before, they waited impatiently.

"Yes, dear. It really is a wonderful story. I think you'll like it if you give it a try."

"But I have given it a try! They don't do _anything. _They just sit in their chairs and talk about a wedding or something boring like that."

"Humph." Mr. Woodhouse murmured under his breath.

"Hush, Father." Emma whispered.

"I want you to give it another try. Here, take the book."

The whole scene began to shift and the characters clutched frantically at their seats as the book was lifted. Within moments, a large face again appeared over the book, and their young reader sighed before once again beginning to read.

"Dirty, sir!" Mr. Knightley again suppressed a chuckle. "Look at my shoes, not a speck on them."

"Well! That is quite surprising, for we have had a vast deal of rain here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour while we were at breakfast. I wanted them to put off the wedding."

The appropriate silence again ensued before Mr. Knightley continued the scene.

"By the bye, I have not wished you joy. Being pretty well aware of what sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have been in no hurry with my congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably well. How did you all behave? Who cried most?"

"Ah! Poor Mrs. Taylor!" Mr. Woodhouse said. "'Tis a sad business."

"Poor Mr. and Mrs. Woodhouse, if you please." Mr. Knightley corrected. "But I can not possibly say 'poor Mrs. Taylor.' I have a great regard for you and Emma; but when it comes to the question of dependence or independence! At any rate, it muse be better to have only one to please than two."

"Especially when _one _of those two is such a fanciful, troublesome creature!" Emma said playfully. "That is what you have in your head, I know, and what you would certainly say if my father were not by."

"I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed." Mr. Woodhouse said wearily with a sigh. "I am afraid I am sometimes very fanciful and troublesome."

"My dearest papa! You do not think I could mean _you_, or suppose Mr. Knightley to mean _you. _What a horrible idea! Oh no! I meant only myself. Mr. Knightley loves to find fault with me, you know, in a joke. It is all a joke. We always say what we like to one another."

Emma glanced up at this point to see that the reader seemed to have lost some of her boredom, and was reading with a little more fervency. Emma got excited then, hoping that they would be able to continue their story for quite some time. And she was not disappointed.

The reader continued to pay attention through the rest of the chapter, and into the next, and the next, and on into Chapter 15. Many of the characters had the chance to play portions of their parts, and their performance was very well done as they were excited to once again have the attention of a reader.

Mr. Elton and Emma were in the middle of a crucial scene before the reader came to a stopping point. They had just climbed into the carriage after a party at the home of Mr. Weston, and Mr. Elton was to escort her home. Barely had they left the drive, however, when Mr. Elton began to profusely declare his love for Emma. He waxed quite elegantly, begging and pleading, and seemingly sure of her eventual return of his affections.

Emma was quite surprised at first, and tried to push him away, but it was to no avail. She looked fervently for an opportunity to speak, while at the same time purposing to keep her tone light, as she was sure that these affections so suddenly forced upon her were mainly the fault of too much wine.

"I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton. This to _me_! You forget yourself, you take me for my friend. Any message to Miss Smith I shall be happy to deliver; but no more of this to _me,_ if you please."

"Miss Smith! Message to Miss Smith! What could she possibly mean?!" Mr. Elton seemed so much amazed, that Emma felt the need to immediately respond.

"Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct. I can account for it in only one way; you are not yourself, or you could not speak to me, or of Harriet, in such a manner. Command yourself enough to say no more, and I will endeavor to forget it."

But Mr. Elton argued profusely with this, again speaking firmly of his affections for Emma. It was at this point that Emma lost most of the control she had tried so hard to keep over her often unruly tongue.

"It is impossible for me to doubt any longer. You have made yourself too clear. Mr. Elton, my astonishment is much beyond anything I can express. After such behavior, as I have witnessed during the last month, to Miss Smith, such attentions as I have been in the daily habit of observing, to be addressing me in this manner, this is an unsteadiness of character indeed, which I had not supposed possible! Believe me, sir, I am far, very far, from gratified in being the object of such professions."

"Good Heaven!" cried Mr. Elton, playing his part quite well. "What can be the meaning of this? Miss Smith! I never thought of Miss Smith in the whole course of my existence, never paid her any attentions, but as your friend: never cared whether she were dead or alive, but as your friend. If she has fancies otherwise, her own wishes have misled her, and I very sorry, extremely sorry. But, Miss Smith, indeed! Oh! Miss Woodhouse! Who can think of Miss Smith, when Miss Woodhouse is near! No upon my honor, there is no unsteadiness of character. I have thought only of you. I protest against having paid the smallest attention to any one else. Every thing that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has been with the sole view of marking my adoration of yourself. You cannot really, seriously, doubt it. No! I am sure you have seen and understood me."

"UGH!" The reader exclaimed suddenly, dropping the book abruptly, causing the carriage to rock considerably at the sudden movement. Both Emma and Mr. Elton looked up in surprise, to see a look of disgust on the young girl's face.

"I can't believe that man!" The reader continued. "All that time leading on Miss Smith when the whole time he was in love with Emma. I hate this book!"

And with that, the book was slammed shut, the carriage again shook, and shortly after the back-up lights flickered on. Mr. Elton buried his head in his hands with a sigh.

"Always the same." He mumbled. "Every single reader has the same reaction." Suddenly he looked up, his eyes flashing. "I didn't write this story! I follow it, act it, and play my role to a T. But do I get an ounce of credit? No! Instead I am hated by every reader, stuck with a nag from Bath, and have absolutely no control of my life, story, or character."

Emma looked at him sympathetically, but didn't have the chance to speak, as other characters were coming to the scene.

"A nag!" Mrs. Elton exclaimed, having overheard Mr. Elton's woes. "The nerve. And do you think I liked leaving Bath and coming to Highbury? Do you think I gave up nothing by marrying the boring old reverend? Do you think I like being married to one of the most despised characters in the book? See what credit I get. A nag, really!"

"Come now." Mr. Knightley said, trying to mediate amongst the couple. "This is the story, and it has been well loved by many readers. Each of us has an equally important role, and both Mr. and Mrs. Elton here are vital to the story."

"We can't change the story, anyhow." Mr. Woodhouse said. "Imagine, if Emma did accept Mr. Elton's offer, the poor gal would quickly catch cold in that drafty parsonage. My daughter just doesn't have the robust frame of Mrs. Elton here, and would quickly wither away to nothing in such a cold and dreary place."

Frank Churchill stomped onto the scene. "Do you see this waistcoat? Shined and cleaned to perfection, and my shoes and breeches in the same condition. You ladies don't understand the work that must go into these things. Hours I spent of labor preparing for my first scene. What is it with readers these days? They expect the handsomest of the men to pop up in the first chapter!"

"I don't understand." The soft-spoken Harriet Smith said, having just arrived at page xyz. "Are you discussing a change in the story? But how can that be? What would happen to us if we had a different story? Emma married to Mr. Elton? Poor Mrs. Elton, left with no spouse. The only man left would be…Mr. Knightley." Harriet had grown quite flushed throughout this past speech, but her face had grown suddenly pale, and her words faded off at that last idea.

"You excite yourself, Miss. Harriet." Mr. Woodhouse said. "Probably on account of the dreadful chill in the air. You must head back home at once."

"I find myself in agreement with Mr. Woodhouse in that regard." Mr. Martin said, stepping forward and offering his arm to Harriet. "Allow me to escort you back to page xyz, where your comfort is much more assured."

"I will accompany you both." Mr. Knightley added in his usual chivalrous manner.

Moments later, they were gone, along with others who also chose to head back to more comfortable chapters or pages. Only a few were left behind. Emma looked around to see that only the Eltons, Miss. Bates, and Frank Churchill were left behind

"Well!" Mrs. Elton said. "I am still very much injured by your earlier allegation, Mr. Elton. Never, in my entire existence, has a man been so rude to me as you have been just now."

Mr. Elton opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. He shook his head in frustration, raked a hand through his wavy dark hair, and stood quickly, striding a few feet away from the group in consternation, his back to them.

"He thinks he looks bad." Miss Bates twittered. "Every reader thinks, thinks me to be a…a…"

"Ditz?" Frank Churchill asked.

"Yes, and a…a…"

"Busybody." Emma said.

"That too, but I meant a…a…. Oh, I don't know!"

"Dingbat, bird-brain, ninny…." Frank Churchill supplied for her.

"Yes!" Miss Bates spoke up in a voice loud enough to make the other characters look at her in surprise. "Exactly what I am getting at. They all see me that way, even you see me that way. But I want to be different. I want to be smart, and um….um…"

"Intelligent?" Emma asked with a hint of condescension.

"Yes, and bright. But instead, I am a ninny. I want to be something else. Like a…a…"

"Hero!" Mr. Elton said suddenly, spinning in his tracks and walking towards Miss Bates so swiftly that she stepped backward in surprise. "You want to be something better. A hero or heroine. Someone brave, or lovely, or wise, or brilliant. Someone of noble character and heart who is instantly loved by your readers. Someone who has a story that they themselves love, and are not only with the people they love, but are put in place with those people in a way that they love."

"Revered by those who hear your story." Frank said, coming forward in animation. "True, courageous, respected, honored, and admired by the ladies."

"In the place of your choosing." Mrs. Elton spoke up. Where the architecture and surroundings are filled with beauty and grace. And where there are plenty of the noble and well-established company merely a walk or carriage ride away."

"And where you are established with those for whom you have grown great affections for." Emma said, glancing longingly out of the corner of her eye at Frank.

There was a moment of silence, as Miss. Bates took in the faces around her that were at once mournful, longing, resigned, and wistful. "Yes…" She said hesitantly. "That is what I mean…. I think."

"But, alas!" Emma sighed, looking down at the words beneath her feet, and smelling the night airs of chapter 12. "Though we long for more, here is where we are, and here is where we shall remain."


End file.
